


Dare

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_kinkmeme, F/M, Kinky, Master/Slave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-28
Updated: 2010-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She cleared her throat, nervous. "Will I do?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dare

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sga_kinkmeme, to the prompt "Jennifer/John, slavery, collars and leaches, obedience. In order to gain access to a desperately needed medicinal herb (or something - it's not like it matters), Jennifer has to pose as Colonel Sheppard's body-slave. To her horror and surprise, she ends up enjoying the experience." Unbetaed.

Colonel Sheppard stood with his back to her while she changed clothes. Off came boots and socks, BDU pants and her plain black t-shirt; in their place, Jennifer pulled on the brief tunic and flat sandals that Teyla had assured her was the standard outfit of a body slave. The tunic was very short, barely skimming the tops of her thighs, and Jennifer tugged at it ineffectually—not that it would have made much difference if it had been a little longer. The fabric was sheer enough that she was terribly aware that the Colonel would be able to see her nipples through it; she decided to forget true verisimilitude and not remove her panties. No matter how much they needed the medicinal plants this planet had to offer, it seemed she had her limits.

She cleared her throat, nervous. "Will I do?"

The Colonel turned around. He'd argued against this plan from the first, but Sam had pointed out that they didn't really have another alternative—they had to trade according to Nosnikian rules, or not at all. The Nosnikian only did business with people of appropriate rank, and they didn't rate very highly a military commander who lacked so much as a single body slave. So here they were, with the Colonel's jaw set, an unreadable look on his face, and Jennifer with her nipples showing and goose bumps rising on her arms. "Sure," he said, "just fine," but his gaze was locked on the wall over her shoulder.

"Um," Jennifer said, "great." There was an awkward pause, and then she made herself stoop to dig the last item out of her pack—the long, finely worked silver chain that would go around her neck and clip to the Colonel's belt. "Um. Colonel, it's just... you still have to. You know. Tie me up?" She tried to sound cheerful, as if this was just a regular old work-day lark they were going on—as if it was a regular thing for the CMO and the military commander of Atlantis to get up to on a Tuesday.

He did look her in the eyes then, but said nothing. He took the chain from her, and looped it over her neck, careful not to pull it too tight. His fingertips brushed against her throat as he did so, and Jennifer swallowed convulsively. She didn't think she'd ever stood so close to Colonel Sheppard before—now she knew that he smelled good, smelled faintly of aftershave and soap and sweat, and that there were calluses on his fingertips. He clipped the end of the chain to his belt—it would let her go no more than thirty feet or so away from him—and had to look down to fiddle with the clasp. While looking away from her, he said, "Call me John on this mission, okay?"

"Okay," Jennifer said, surprised enough that she didn't really know how to respond to that. They had always had a pretty cordial relationship, but they were usually 'Doc' and 'Colonel' to one another. Now he wanted her to call him John, and somehow that made her all the more aware that she was half-naked and tethered to a man she didn't really know that well.

"Just—no ranks, alright? I don't want there to be any... We're just going to get in, get the damn stuff and go home, okay?" He made a face, scrunching up his nose in a way that could have meant pretty much anything, but Jennifer got what he meant. They'd be playing dress up, but for all the Nosnikian beyond the walls of this inn, the status of body slave was a very real one. They wouldn't bat an eyelid if the Colonel—if John—did anything to her in public. Jennifer would be lying if she said that hadn't been a worry lingering at the back of her mind since the idea of this mission was first proposed; she was glad that John had been worried about the possibilities, too.

"Okay, John," she said, and then let him lead her out of the room, down the steps and outside into the warmth of a Nosnikian morning. Jennifer took a couple of steadying breaths, and tried to remember all the etiquette pointers Teyla had given her. Walk three steps behind your master; keep your head lowered; clasp your hands in front of you. Jennifer did all those things as best she could while still staying aware of what was going on around her. She thought she'd steeled herself for going out in public dressed like this, in this role, but now she knew nothing could have prepared her for how people looked at her. Some of them stared at her breasts, and one or two smiled at her, but she was just one body slave amongst many in the middle of a crowded market place. People's eyes passed over her as she wasn't there, or as if she was simply something pretty but commonplace in a shop window—her near-nudity, the tasks these people thought she performed, were unremarkable here.

But she soon realised she was even more unprepared for how people treated John. Whereas she was ignored and unspoken to, whenever John stopped to haggle over some bit of possibly interesting Ancient technology at one market stall, or to admire the brightly coloured messenger birds for sale at another, the Nosnikian struck up an instant and friendly conversation with him. He laughed with them, and joked with them, though the line of his mouth firmed when a merchant told John that Jennifer was 'a fine girl' and patted her on the ass, looked at her with an appraising eye.

Jennifer tried not to react—in part because she didn't want that stranger to touch her anymore, in part because she knew that a well-trained body slave would not do anything otherwise, but she was horrified, mortified, to realise that that was in part because this was turning her on, just a little. She felt her cheeks heat at she realised that her nipples were growing hard, rubbing against the scratchy fabric of her tunic, and all because these people walking past were ignoring her, because they thought that she was John's, to do with as he wished.

She looked down at her feet, fighting for composure, because this was not at all the time to come to an unexpected realisation about a kink of hers. She stood silently while John finished his business with the merchant, and then followed him down a slightly less crowded alleyway towards the medical emporium which sold the supplies they needed. "You okay?" John asked her softly, but Jennifer couldn't do more than nod in reply; she couldn't really trust herself to speak.

Inside the emporium, it was dim and cool, dust motes floating in the daylight that came in through high narrow windows. As was usual in Nosnikian stores, the merchandise was brought out to the purchaser to inspect, so John was given a seat in a high-backed wooden chair while the shop owner went off in search of the roots they were looking for. When he was seated, he gave Jennifer a nod, terse and uncomfortable, and she kneeled down beside him on the small piece of cushion that was provided for body slave use. She was glad for that much consideration—she dreaded to think what it would have been like to kneel for maybe up to an hour on a hardwood floor—though being so close to John right now wasn't exactly good for her adrenaline levels. She was intensely aware of him—of his maleness, of his strength—in a way she had never been before.

For a moment, she squeezed her thighs tightly together, not knowing if she was trying to dispel or to nurse the ache between her legs, but the pleasure and the humiliation of it warred together in ways she didn't really know how to deal with. She stopped, scolding herself, and hoped like hell no one had noticed how much she was squirming. _Great way to make the Nosnikian suspicious, Jennifer_ , she scolded herself. She wasn't really a body slave, she was here for a purpose; she wasn't supposed to be turned on by being on the end of a leash.

She tried to distract herself by looking surreptitiously around the room. There were a couple of other buyers there, both attended by body slaves. One tall man had another man sitting at his feet; the body slave's head rested against his master's knee, and the master's big, dark hand was gently stroking through the body slave's blond curls. A few seats down, a petite woman was letting her body slave lean against her while she idly pinched and played with a nipple through his tunic. The slave's tunic was also short enough that Jennifer could admire the lean muscles of his thighs; could see his obvious erection through the thin, sheer fabric of his tunic.

The sight made her shiver, and she couldn't help it. She needed some kind of touch, needed some kind of belonging, and she leaned in and rested her head against John's knee. He stiffened instantly, and Jennifer felt hot with embarrassment and shame, though neither emotion was strong enough to drive away her arousal. She told herself she would only indulge the impulse for a moment or two, until her skin hunger was sated and then she would pull away and hopefully she and John would _never speak of this again_ —but just before she did so, John's hand came to rest on the back of her neck. His hand was big and heavy, and the feel of his gun calluses against the soft skin of her nape made her gasp softly.

He heard her, she knew he must have, because his fingers started to trace patterns into her skin, blunt nails scraping up and into her hair and tangling her hair around his fingers. John tugged a little, experimentally, and it made Jennifer moan—not because it hurt, exactly, but because she knew she couldn't stop John if he did want to do so. He kept on doing that, alternating slow scratches of her scalp with gentle tugs at her hair, until the shop owner had finally located the items they were looking for.

Jennifer sat up then, eyeing the merchandise—all the fresh herbs and roots they needed, enough that surely the botanists would be able to propagate some back on Atlantis and they'd never have to do this again—and nodded as much as she dared. John okayed the sale, the merchant packaged up the goods, and with a nod and a smile John left the shop, Jennifer trailing behind him.

John led them down the street, not speaking, and then another, and then into a narrow, deserted alleyway. Halfway down he stopped and whirled around. "What the hell was that in there?" he spat, eyes wide. "Was that supposed to be some kind of lesson or something? Because I get that was inappropriate, but taunting me about it just because I—it's not like I would ever have done anything, okay? I'm not that much of an asshole."

Jennifer stared at him, thoroughly confused. She'd been expecting silent mortification, or even him yelling at her for essentially coming onto him, but not this. "Because you what? I don't—oh." She looked down. Even in his dark BDU pants, John was visibly erect. "You—you liked it?"

John's jaw worked, but he didn't answer her. He was—oh god. Jennifer licked lips that were suddenly dry. She took a step towards him. "Is it the clothes?" she asked him. "Or is it this?" She reached up to touch the chain around her neck. His throat worked when she did that, and Jennifer's arousal was a renewed, heavy weight in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm not—" he said. "I wouldn't..."

Jennifer knelt down right in front of him, right there in the middle of the alleyway, and there was something about that action which made her panties grow damp. "I want what you want," she told him, looking down at the ground, at John's feet in their battered boots. He started to object but she spoke over him. "Tell me."

She looked up at him from beneath lowered eyelashes, and saw the very moment when he decided _yes_ —his gaze focused and sharpened, his pupils gone wide and his breathing coming more quickly. "Tell me to blow you," she told him.

"Suck me," he said, voice harsh, and Jennifer couldn't stop herself from moaning even before she got him out of his pants. His erection was hot and heavy on her tongue, large enough that she almost choked on it, and when John used the chain around her neck to angle her head back for him, Jennifer had to press one hand hurriedly between her legs. She rocked against herself while she sucked him, right there out in the open with the sun shining down warm on her shoulders and the bustle of a busy market not a hundred yards away.

"God, god, you're so good," John told her. His hands came up to cup her face, holding her still with the cool chain pressed in between his rough palms and her heated cheeks. "So hot for me, aren't you? Wanted me to tell you what to do in front of the people in that shop, didn't you? God, wanted you so bad since I saw you dressed up like this, wanted to push you down onto the ground and fuck you in front of everyone." That image was just, it was just–God, it was the hottest thing Jennifer had ever heard, filthy and nasty and everything a nice girl from Wisconsin was never supposed to do. It was filthy, and Jennifer knew she would have let him, just like right now she was letting him fuck her mouth with ever deeper thrusts until her eyes watered and she was coming, helplessly.

She whimpered around his cock, and fought to swallow as much as she could when he finally came. Jennifer couldn't take it all, and come dribbled down her chin when he finally pulled out. He rubbed the sticky mess into her skin with one thumb, and Jennifer shivered, pressed her cheek into his palm. God, what a sight she must be. "Such a good girl, aren't you?"

Jennifer nodded, helpless and still feeling more turned on than she ever had in her life. She felt her hips start to rock again into her hand—she needed to come again. "No," John told her, tilting up her chin. "Not like that, understand?" She didn't know how she'd ever thought it was _this_ part that John didn't want—his eyes were dark, there was sweat beaded on his forehead, and his cock was still half-hard and red, jutting out of pants.

She fought to stay still.

"Do you understand me?" John asked her, voice pitched low but firm.

"Yes," Jennifer said, then with a burst of inspiration, "Yes, sir."

He groaned at that, then pressed his boot in between her legs. "Rub off against me," he said, "let me see how much you want it."

Jennifer felt her face grow hot again, because this was shameless, this was rutting against someone in public. She did it. She pressed her face against his thigh and worked herself against him. Through the damp cotton of her panties, the leather of John's boot was gentle friction and welcome pressure, and Jennifer couldn't stop herself from panting. "Good girl," John told her as the ache in her clit grew and grew, "so good. Gonna lead you back through that market place and they're going to see you've been a good girl, gonna smell me on you, that's right, give it up for me."

He reached down and tugged gently on the chain around her neck, and the hint of pressure was all Jennifer needed to come, sobbing. She was so sated that she could do little more than kneel there against him while John tucked himself back into his pants; he had to help her up so that she could follow him back to the inn. As they walked through the marketplace, Jennifer knew that John was right—that there was a come stain on her tunic and dirt on her knees, that her hair was damp with sweat and her lips swollen with sucking cock, that everyone who walked past her knew what she'd been doing.

She found that she really didn't care—she didn't care there; she didn't care when she carefully cleaned herself up back at the inn, rolling her stained tunic and sandals up into a ball and stuffing them at the bottom of her pack; she didn't care when John suddenly turned awkward and shy and Sheppard-ish, rubbing at the nape of his neck and mumbling something incoherent about hierarchies and trust and mission reports.

Jennifer just shook her head at him and opened one of the pockets of his tac vest. "For safe-keeping," she told him, placing the coiled skein of the chain inside. She could see the instant he got it—eyes going wide, tongue darting out to lick dry lips—and Jennifer grinned, feeling shameless and wanting and powerful, knowing that this was something she had to give. Something she could have.

She walked three steps behind John all the way home.


End file.
